


Never A Hero

by iesika



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:10:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iesika/pseuds/iesika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, if a man is lucky, he gets a second chance to do the most important thing he's never done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Floranna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floranna/gifts).



He doesn't know what's going on.

He's cold and he can't stop shaking, but his skin feels like it's on fire. There's an overwhelming chemical odor in his nostrils - something wrong that makes his skin crawl and his stomach churn. When he vomits, the liquid that comes up tastes like rotting. Like death. His lungs burn, and he coughs up something thick and terrible that burns like bile. He thinks there's something moving in it, and he ends up vomiting again, until there's nothing left.

His muscles are spasming painfully all over his body, but he can't make them move under his control. His spine hurts, nerves raw like the world's worth toothache, and he can feel the pain of it from his hair down to his toenails. Something is holding him down despite his convulsions, holding his arms and legs firmly in place. He can't move, but his muscles won't stop twitching.

He can't see anything - until he can, and everything is too bright, and his eyes burn. There are shapes moving around him, things being said, but none of it makes sense. It takes him a long time to figure out that the screaming is coming from him.

It takes a long time after that for him to make himself stop.

Eventually, though, he does stop, and there's nothing left inside him to expel. The voices around him still don't make sense, and he still can't move, but his skin only feels like someone had set him on fire instead of maybe doing that and then dousing him with acid.

Maybe he's gone crazy. Maybe he's dying.

"Quite the opposite, actually," a voice says nearby - a man's voice, cultured and deep - so maybe that means he said that out loud. He doesn't understand what the voice means. The last thing he remembers...

What is the last thing he remembers? Something... Something... Pain. Fear. Or maybe that's now? He remembers... the sound of someone's voice. Not this voice. It had been a young man's voice. It had been frightened. He hadn't wanted that voice to be frightened, so he... what?

Something...

What's his name?

Tim. That's the first name he thinks of. But it's not his, is it? It's someone. Someone... important. The most important person. If he can just remember...

If he can remember who Tim is, he'll remember who he is.

"You're really taking this remarkably well. I was a bit concerned. The process can be... rather stressful, particularly the first time. particularly for one so far gone."

That voice again, closer this time. "Where's Tim?" Where is he for that matter? He opens his eyes again, and they barely feel like they're on fire at all. He thinks the wall - or maybe that's the ceiling - is made of rough stone, like a tunnel or maybe a cave. The light is strange, greenish and shifting.

"In due time. I'm sure he'll be here shortly." The voice sounds amused, pleased. He tries to turn his head, but he can't move that, either. "After all, that was rather the point, wasn't it?"

The point of what? What the hell is going on? What is his name?

"There will have been sensors in the grave, of course, after that last...nasty business with the rings. I'll be quite disappointed if I'm not at the top of his list of suspects."

Grave? Rings? Suspects?

There's a mechanical noise, creaking and old-fashioned, and then he's tilting, head rising and feet falling, or maybe it's the other way around. The owner of the voice comes into view, tall and brown-skinned, hair thick and black but tinged with silver. Something about the man sets his teeth on edge. The man smiles, and it makes him think of sharks. "But forgive my rudeness. We haven't been properly introduced. I am called Ra's al Ghul."

Something about the name is familiar. He thinks...maybe he's heard it before. He doesn't remember meeting this person, though. He thinks the word "demon," and he doesn't know why.

"And now," Ra's al Ghul says, "we shall wait for your son to arrive."

*

Jack. His name is Jack. He repeats that to himself inside his head, so he won't forget again. He thinks...that he's getting better. Still, the feeling of not knowing who he was lingers strong in his memory.

Tim is his son. Dana is his wife. So was Janet, but she's dead now. It's Tim his mind keeps drifting back to. He's starting to remember a little, bits and pieces. He thinks Tim was the one crying when he-

Not died. If he'd died, he wouldn't be sitting here on this bed, staring at the wall. It's really not a bad room, all things considered. He's pretty sure he's a prisoner. He's pretty sure he's bait. Tim will know better than to fall for a trap like this, though. He thinks, for a little while, that maybe Batman will be the one to come and save him. He did in Haiti, after all.

It takes some time for him to remember how much he'd hated the man for taking his son from him, leading him into danger and deceit, how it had felt to hold the gun in his hand, to point it at a face he thought he knew. When Bruce Wayne had narrowed his eyes at him, in that moment, Jack had realized he didn't know the man at all.

Maybe not Batman, then.

Surely someone will come, though. Tim's a superhero. He's spoken more times than Jack can count about how tightly knit that community is, how they depend so strongly on each other. Maybe Superman owes his son a favor. The thought makes him laugh, until he realizes what his own voice sounds like. Then he stops.

Jack. His name is Jack. He has a son named Tim. Tim is Robin. Robin is a superhero.

Someone's going to rescue him from this place eventually.

*

They bring him food three times a day. It's pretty decent food. Like the room, with its bed and table and wooden chairs, it's an unexpected luxury. Jack never spent much time before now thinking about what it would be like to be held hostage by a proper supervillain, but even if he had, he wouldn't have pictured it like this. It's a far cry from Haiti.

On the second day - or at least he thinks it's the second day, but his only real clue is the food cycle - Ra's al Ghul is standing behind the guy who brings the food when the door opens with lunch. "Mr. Drake," the man says, somehow making it sound like he's addressing Jack across a board table instead of the door of a prison cell. "I trust the accommodations are comfortable?"

"Much better than the last time I was kidnapped, thanks. I especially appreciate the toilet. I don't suppose you've got any books you could lend me, though?"

Al Ghul looks at him levelly for a long moment. Jack gets the feeling the man is amused. "The reading selection in your tongue might be rather limited. I haven't used this base in some time."

Jack shrugs. "What have you got?" He takes a stab, based on the man's name and things he's heard said in the hallway as people have passed his door. "My Arabic's passable, but I'm a bit out of practice at reading it. I'm afraid my Coptic is really pretty rusty, though." And that was a shock, hearing a mostly-dead language being spoken conversationally by the men who inhabit this place. He hasn't really bothered with the language since grad school, when he decided he'd rather study the new world than the old. From the language, and from the desert air and all the sandstone, Jack feels reasonably sure that he's in Egypt. Or Sudan, maybe but... probably Egypt. He's been in tombs that looked like this place. "Spanish or French would be really nice. Or Latin."

Now the man is definitely amused. He waves a hand toward someone or something out of sight without turning his head. "I'll see what I can do."

It's on the tip of Jack's tongue to ask for some way to exercise, but a more pressing question comes out instead. "What do you intend to do to my son?"

Al Ghul just smiles. He steps back as the servant or whatever he is finishes setting the table and returns to the door.

The lack of answer is chilling, though it's not like Jack ever thought the guy wanted to lure Tim over to have tea. "I said, what do you want with my son," He tries to put more force into the question this time despite the way his heart is thumping.

"That will depend," al Ghul says as the door clanks shut and locks, "entirely on the young detective."

*

Jack frets for a while, pacing and tugging on his hair. Eventually he decides that if he's going to be a prisoner for very long, he can't just sit around and slowly go insane.. He does jumping jacks and push ups and squats until he's tired and sore all over. It takes a distressingly short amount of time. Dana would tease the hell out of him, if she could see him.

Dana... It would be really nice to see her right now. He lies on his back once he's tired, thinking of the soft curves of her body over runner's muscle and sinew. It's a nice diversion, but his mind keeps coming back to his situation. He's not sure if Tim can, or will, tell Dana what's going on. She might think he's dead.

Try as he might, he can't remember being kidnapped. Maybe he was drugged - or a head injury could explain the memory loss and fuzzy thinking. Either one might account for all the weird pains and vomiting he vaguely remembers. He's not sure how they got him out of Gotham, out of the country, without anyone realizing it. Then again, supervillains probably have their ways.

He tries to think of everything he knows about Ra's al Ghul. The man had been active in Gotham a time or two, and Jack had seen it on the news or read about it in the paper. He never used to pay too much attention to that kind of thing, except to bemoan that he was raising his son in a city full of psychos and criminals. After he found out about Tim's...secret... well, he paid more attention to the news after that.

The man was some kind of terrorist, wasn't he? Not a religious nut - or rather, not a nut following some religion. From what he's seen since he came to, al Ghul seems to be at the head of his own little cult of personality. Does he have powers? Jack can't remember. Lightning breath or acid touch or gamma ray eyes... All that stuff always seemed so stupid before he knew it was being pointed at his son. Try as he might, though, he can't pin something that showy onto al Ghul.

They bring him books with his supper. The volumes are old, but the dry air and minimal handling have been good for them. Two volumes in French, three in Latin, one in Greek. Well, it will give him something to do besides stare at the walls at least. 

It's the books that give him his clue. The longer he looks at them, the older he realizes them to be. Not the French books - one of those even has a date written inside the cover, from the turn of the nineteenth century. That reinforces the idea that he's probably in Egypt, since Napoleon was running the place at that time. The other books are much older. He runs his fingers over the vellum, the leather, the glue at their bindings. The words on the pages are faintly imprinted with the force of the press on which they were made.

"Huh," he says, and turns a Latin volume over in the light.

I haven't used this base in some time.

Ra's al Ghul is immortal, or close to it. He remembers now.

Wow.

He really hopes Superman owes his son a favor.

*

If Tim were captured by a supervillain, what would he do?

The thought occurs to Jack while he's waiting for that servant to set the table again. Tim could probably overpower the man and make a break for it.

Maybe he would have found something in the room to use as a weapon. Broken a chair to use the leg like a club, or made a garotte out of the bedsheets. 

If Tim got out of the room, what would he do? There's a guard station at the end of the hall; Jack can just see it from his door if he cranes his neck. He watches the guards watch the security feed sometimes, but mostly the screen shows nothing but some rocks. There was a goat herder, once, though. That was exciting.

So, a servant in the room, two or three guards at the end of the hall, and...Jack doesn't know anything else. He thinks they're probably underground - the air temperature is pretty constant and fairly comfortable, so they're out of the sun. Tim could probably take out those first few guys, but who knows what's up ahead? How big is this place? Big enough to hold a stable temperature underground, at least. Big enough to hold an army? Ra's al Ghul was that kind of villain, wasn't he? Not one crazy guy, like the Joker or Two Face, but an organized crime kind of guy. Or something like that, anyway. He probably should have paid more attention, but he doesn't think the guy has done much lately, so he hasn't been in the news since Jack found the secret compartment in his son's closet.

He's not sure if Tim could escape from a place like this, but he does know that he can't. Jack has been an archeologist, a gentleman adventurer, a businessman, a husband, a father. He's never been a hero.

"Excuse me," he says, as the servant is leaving. "Do you think I could get some stuff to exercise with? Maybe a jump-rope or something?" He pantomimes in case the man doesn't know the words, hopping in place and twirling his hands. "I'm going stir crazy in here."

The servant doesn't answer, but he watches Jack's little show before he turns to leave.

*

There's commotion in the middle of the night. Jack wakes up with a jerk and rolls out of bed, crouching on the floor and staring at the square of light from the door's barred window as men run by. No one opens the door, though. After a minute or two he gets up and goes to look out through the little barred window, to the guard station.

There are several men crowded around it in various states of dress. He wasn't the only one caught sleeping, then. One of the men moves, and Jack catches a glimpse of someone dressed in red and black moving across the security screen. His heart leaps, and he starts to get excited, but he realizes after a moment that the background is all wrong. The man is somewhere else, in a city made of grey concrete, not here.

Still, for the guards to be so agitated, something important must be going on. He presses himself flat to the door, craning his neck, trying to get the best view he can. The men are all jabbering at once, and his Coptic really is terrible, so he can't understand what they're saying to each other. It's supposed to be a dead language, outside of the church, and he thinks it's really not fair that his captors can't just speak Arabic or something else he'd have a chance at.

He concentrates and catches a word or two. The one he's hearing most often is "red." Well, the man's shirt is red, yes, but-

"Bird." "Red" and "bird", and the man on the screen is using a long white staff to send someone in body armor to his knees. "Robin," he whispers, staring at the tiny, distant figure.

Eventually, the excitement ends. The monitor reverts to security footage of a pile of boulders, and all but a few of the men disperse. There are four guards at the station, now, instead of two.

Tim is looking for him. Jack goes back to bed with a smile on his face.

He wonders why Tim changed his costume, though.

*

When his breakfast comes, the servant puts a jump-rope on the table without looking in Jack's direction. He leaves a bucket and a cloth, and as soon as he's gone, Jack strips down to wash himself. His breakfast is shakshouka, and he eats it with quiet enjoyment, sopping up egg yolk and tomato sauce with freshly made flatbread. It's the kind of fast, easy food one might get from a street vendor in Cairo for a few pennies - probably the same thing the guards are eating. In Gotham, though, he'd pay twenty bucks for a meal like this at a specialty restaurant, so he decides to think of it that way, even if he does have to refill his cup from the pitcher himself. He does miss having ice in his drink, but the water is cool enough.

After breakfast he does his push-ups and crunches and squats, and then he picks up the rope to examine it. The handles are wood, but he thinks he could get them off pretty easily if he had to. He's not sure if he remembers his knots, or if the kind of knots one learns for yachting would even be the kind of knots for this... but he's sure he could figure out something that would work.

Captivity is wearing. He'd really like to shave, and to wash his hair properly, and to see the sunlight. Still, the food is good. The bed is... comfortable enough, and there are no bugs in it. No rats in the room. It doesn't get too hot, or too cold. No one's hurt him, since the first day, or even threatened him. Even al Ghul was polite enough, for all that he set Jack's skin crawling and probably wants to murder his son.

Jack twists the rope between his hands, trying to make it into a loop. He gets something that looks serviceable and doesn't pull apart when he yanks on it. There's no way he can see to attach it to the ceiling, but he could tie it to the bars on the window, if he started on his knees.

Tim is looking for him.

He unties the jump rope. It would be a shame to use it if he doesn't have to. But at least now he has the option. He might not be able to escape, but there's a way out. That helps a little with the trapped feeling.

He can stay here for a while. He can wait for Tim, or one of Tim's friends. He should try to think of it as a vacation.

He jumps rope until he's exhausted, and then sits on the bed to read for a while.

*

Someone is in the room when Jack wakes up. He lays there very still, feeling his heartbeat and trying to keep his breathing even, but he suspects from the way the chair creaks under his guest that he's already given himself away. After a few seconds, he rolls onto his back and sits up, turning to see who's in the room.

Ra's al Ghul is sitting in one of the two wooden chairs, legs crossed, just looking at Jack, ignoring the silent servant who is setting the table for two. Jack squints his bleary eyes and runs his hands through his hair, hating how greasy it feels.

"Now is a good time for the two of us to have a chat," al Ghul says. He nods absently at the servant without looking away from Jack, and the other man pours mint-infused tea from a silver pot into a pair of little gilded glasses.

Jack swings his legs over the side of the bed and stares back at him, not answering. He's not awake enough for this yet. The tea smells amazing, though, and Jack hasn't had any caffeine in... how long has be been here? A week? More? He should have been keeping better track, scratching tally marks into the wall or something. Tim probably would have. He gets up when the servant starts uncovering dishes.

It's a surprisingly simple meal, considering al Ghul seems likely to be sharing it with him - just soft yogurt cheese topped with olive oil and herbs, flatbread and some kind of tomato salad. The other man seems to be waiting for him before he starts, so Jack moves to the table and sits down. "If I thought I had any information you'd want from me, I'd be getting suspicious right now." He's suspicious anyway. "Sleep deprivation and suddenly friendly behavior..."

Al Ghul smiles. "Ah, but you may have information that I need after all. Timothy has already worked his way through all of my bases which were wired to the computer network he compromised. He's found two more since then. He could be here today." Jack's heart leaps, but al Ghul shrugs as if this is inconsequential. "Or it could be a month. I am a patient man, and if I had left him deliberate clues, he wouldn't have trusted them."

"There is absolutely nothing you could say or do that would make me work for you against my son," Jack says with conviction. He looks at the cup sitting in front of him, but decides not to touch the food until the other man does.

"Oh, honestly, if I intended to poison or drug you I'd have done it by now." Al Ghul sounds...miffed. Jack picks up a date and takes a bite. He watches as al Ghul sips his tea. "I had hoped to speak with you as one father to another. I have no sons, I am afraid, but I do have two rather...spirited daughters. That is why you are here."

"I'm here because you kidnapped me," Jack says, and rolls his eyes. "What do your daughters have to do with that?"

He watches as al Ghul suppresses a smile. "Is that what you think? Hm. Mr. Drake, I shall be blunt. My descendants will be heirs to a vast empire. What I am proposing is that yours should be as well."

It doesn't take a genius to put the pieces together. No sons, but he has daughters; talking to Jack "father to father" about descendants... "Holy shit. You can't be serious."

Al Ghul's smile evaporates and his face darkens. "I assure you that I am most serious. My only grandson is a...terrible disappointment. Bruce Wayne took him from me, as he took your son from you. The boy was not ready to meet his father. Perhaps he never would have been." His expression and tone become more philosophical. "Though he did at least have the sense to immediately recognize your son as a significant threat and attempt to eliminate him."

"W-what?" Jack says, even though he saw Tim on the monitor just the night before, even though al Ghul has been talking as if Tim would show up any minute now.

"They are rivals for the affections of the current Batman. Your son is no longer Robin, Mr. Drake. He has been wandering the world, heartbroken, lost and alone. He no longer has a home, or a family. I propose to offer him one." He gestures in Jack's direction with a graceful turn of his wrist. "A father. And a bride."

Jack can only stare in stunned amazement.

"You see now, I hope. You are less a hostage than an offering. I went to considerable effort and expense to cause you to be here."

"Because you want grandchildren?" Jack sputters. Even Janet's mother had never been that bad.

"It is the purpose of every being on this earth to secure a place for its progeny. The wasp pierces the living grub so that her children will start their lives with sustenance. The songbird makes himself a target of hawks and hunters to win the most desirable mates. Man is no different. If your line and mine are joined, a Drake will one day rule the world."

Jack can only stare at the man, open-mouthed, trying to understand the words coming out of his mouth. "My God. You're completely insane, aren't you?"

Something fiery flashes in the other man's eyes, and Jack can suddenly understand how the man got a name like 'Head of the Demon.' "Perhaps it was foolish of me to attempt to speak to you as an equal. Let me make this plainer: when your son arrives, either you will convince him that a liason with my daughter is in both of your best interests, or I will be forced to do the convincing myself. If it is necessary to use you as leverage, you will be tortured until your son complies. The process will repeat until I am fully satisfied that I have a suitable heir. I can keep you and your son alive indefinitely, in constant torment, until I have what I want. And when I am through, I will return you to your grave, to the worms and the rot, without the courtesy of first ending your life.”

"Jesus," Jack whispers, his body pressed flat against the back of his chair. What was the man even talking about? Torture, okay, terrifying yet comprehensible. What was that about graves supposed to mean? A madman's ranting, or... or... Jack finds his skin crawling, his hands shaking. He hugs himself. "I'll think about it."

"Indeed," al Ghul says, and it sounds like a threat, a curse, "you will think of nothing else." He stands and leaves the table, and the servant hurries to unlock the door for him. When al Ghul wrenches the iron door open, it creaks loudly under his hand.

The servant hurries after him, locking the door and leaving Jack alone with his breakfast.

There's no way he can eat another bite.


	2. Chapter 2

He's not hungry when lunch comes, either, pacing around the cell as the servant comes in and sets the dishes down. The smell of garlic and lemon makes his stomach roil. He does drink some water, while it's cold, and then he covers the dishes so he won't have to think about food.

Knowing what al Ghul wants from him makes the situation a little more terrifying than it was before. He's having weird flashbacks, and he can't stop thinking of Janet. He's always done his best not to think about Janet - about what it was like there at the end. Jack mostly tries not to think about Haiti at all. When he'd gotten home, when he'd woken up, he'd thrown himself into his recovery, into his relationship with Dana, into being a better father. It'd been so awkward, getting involved in Tim's life, but he'd chalked it up to missing six or seven months. Dana had been so sure that he just needed to give Tim some time, to keep reaching out...

Why Tim, anyway? Jack knows his son is smart and strong, and... and a lot of things, but... well, not that much of it can be genetic, can it? Tim got his nose from his dad, his eyes from his mom, but he sure as hell didn't get his ...hero-ness from his parents. He learned that stuff from Wayne, and it's kind of stupid for al Ghul to think something like that would carry over genetically. If it did, Wayne wouldn't keep recruiting other people's kids - he'd just have some of his own.

He's been thinking that the worst thing al Ghul could do would be to kill him. Torture is a different kind of threat, and so is making him an accessory to his son's...to Tim's... rape. Just the thought is making him sick. He won't be the reason Tim gives in to al Ghul's crazy demands, that's for damned sure. He passes by the bed on his circuit of the room and grabs the jump rope from his pillow, tugging it between his hands and twisting, pulling at the handles.

This will hurt Tim, but it will hurt him less than the alternative. Tim is strong. He survived Janet's death, and he was just a kid then. He's almost a man now. He's a superhero.

And he has another father figure. The one he chose when Jack just...couldn't cut it.

He gets the handles off the rope and starts twisting the thing into a knotted loop. His hands are shaking, though, and it's not coming out right. He moves to the door, to tie the rope through the bars on the window, to anchor the loop - but just before he can do it he sees the servant coming back down the hall to get his dishes.

Jack jerks back and rushes to sit on the bed, shoving the rope under his blanket and picking up a book as the door opens. He doesn't look up as the man lets himself in, turbaned head bowed in humility. He can see the dark-robed figure at the edge of his vision around his book as the man crosses to the table and hesitates before stacking up the still-full dishes.

Maybe... maybe Jack can take him down. He can get the key. He can make a break for it. If he's killed in the attempt, so what? It feels a little less like giving up. Maybe he can take a few of the bastards with him, and Tim won't have so many to fight.

He reaches under the blanket and closes his hands around the rope, pulling it into his lap without looking up from his book. If he can get the guy from behind...

A warning klaxon sounds.

Jack jumps, eyes jerking toward the door. The servant keeps cleaning the table, head bowed. Jack glances at him for only a moment before moving to the cell door, looking down the hall to the guard station.

There's only one man there still on duty. Jack is just in time to see two more disappear around the corner. On the security screen is the familiar rocky beige landscape, with one significant difference. Wonder Girl is standing on the largest boulder, dangling three men in dark masks over the desert floor. She's shouting something, but if the video has sound, Jack can't hear it over the sirens. Superboy swoops in a moment later dangling someone by his wrists - someone in a red and black with a cape and cowl.

"...Tim..." Jack stares at the figures hungrily as Superboy flings his son into the middle of a crowd of gunmen. This is obviously a full-frontal assault, then. His son brought some big guns. He can't help grinning as he watches Tim brain someone with his staff and then turn to kick someone else in the stomach. It gets harder to see after that as the heroes and bad guys get closer to the camera, moving in and out of the frame. Jack finds himself biting his lip as he watches, his whole body tense.

Something hard presses against Jack's back, just between his shoulderblades. "Don't move," a gruff voice orders into his ear. 

The servant! He'd forgotten that the man was even there. Jack resists the urge to turn around, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to curse at himself, instead, until he can't stand not looking at the screen anymore. Tim and the others are still fighting. There are far fewer bad guys on the screen, now.

The man behind him presses his weapon harder against Jack's spine, forcing him flat against the door. Jack slowly raises his hands and grips the bars, trying to show how very compliant he's being. "Not trying to go anywhere. I'm just watching the show."

He's expecting threats or demands. Maybe the man will move him to a new cell with more security. Maybe he'll tie Jack up, or make him go sit in the corner away from the door. He's not expecting the question that's growled in his ear. "What was the last thing you said to your son?"

The question catches Jack completely off guard. He doesn't remember. He doesn't remember how he got here, or what happened the day before he was captured. He doesn't remember any of it.

But... something about the way the guy says it - "the last thing" - it reminds Jack of what he's been trying not to think about. Of the pain he'd woken to, days before, like his body was being torn apart and put back together. Of the dead taste in his mouth, and the things al Ghul had said about graves and worms and keeping people alive. Ra's al Ghul has beaten death.

Beaten death.

"I hope..." Jack chokes up, and holds on tight to the bars to keep himself up on buckling knees, watching Tim whirl with his staff in hand. "I hope I told him how much I love him. How proud I am of him." There's no response, so Jack adds, "If you have any ounce of mercy in you, you'll kill me now before they can use me against him. Please. If you have a kid, you've got to understand..."

On the screen, Tim spins, raises his weapon -

A bullet rips through Tim's shoulder. Jack can actually see the spray of blood. Superboy swoops in but he isn't quite fast enough, and two more bullets catch Tim in the stomach and in the thigh. "No!" Jack shouts. He yanks stupidly at the door, trying to get out there, to get to his son -

"Dad, it's okay." The pressure on his back is gone, and someone is pulling him backward by the shoulders, trying to pry him away from the door. The voice is still kind of rough, and a little too deep, but... but...

"Tim?" Jack can't believe it. He turns in place.

The man in front of him is too tall to be his son. He's got too much stubble shadowing his jaw. He's too broad in the shoulders and too lean in the cheeks, skin too tanned and chapped, eyes too old and tired.

"Oh my god," Jack says, and lunges forward to wrap his son in an embrace. "Oh my god. What-"

"It's okay," Tim says, squeezing him back with painful strength. "It's a diversion. She's fine."

Jack is so, so confused. "She?"

"I'll explain once we're out of here."

There's a sharp, startling breeze, and then someone else is in the room with them. When the blur comes to a stop, Jack realizes it's Kid Flash. "So is he the real deal?"

"Yeah," Tim says. Despite his outward calm, he sounds just as choked up as Jack feels. "Take him back to base and meet me in five for extraction."

"Got it," Kid Flash says with a sunny smile and a salute, and then before Jack knows what's happening, everything is a blur for something just less than a heartbeat, and he's standing in a kitchen full of shiny steel fixtures. "Welcome to the Tower! I'm really glad you're the real Tim's-Dad, because if you weren't I was going have to drop you off a cliff or something so Tim wouldn't have to fight you." Despite the smile with which the words are delivered, Jack finds himself shivering at the undertone of menace. "Makeyourselfathome, I'llbebacksoon!"

And then Kid Flash is gone, and Jack is alone, and still very, very confused. He decides that sitting down would be an excellent idea, and finds a dining chair to fall into. 

There's a clock ticking somewhere in the room. It seems far too loud. Jack hadn't realized just how used he'd gotten to the silence of his cell.

Kid Flash blurs back into the room, sparks flying off his heels, and leaves Wonder Girl standing next to the counter island. "Tim says he's for real," he tells her, and then he blurs away again. Wonder Girl just...stares at him, her expression wary.

She's very attractive, though far too young for him to be thinking that. The look she's giving him is also kind of terrifying. He watches her reach to the side without looking away from him and grab some paper towels. When she rubs them against the backs of her hands, they come away red. "Hi," she says.

"Hello," Jack says back, and swallows. "Ah. Thank you for helping to rescue me."

She snorts and rolls her eyes, then walks away to the sink to wash her hands properly and splash water on her dusty face. "If you're a shapeshifter or a body snatcher, there's going to be hell to pay."

"Um," Jack says after a moment, because he can't think of anything else.

The woosh and crackle of Kid Flash's arrival is getting to be familiar. This time he's dragging Superboy along, and Superboy is carrying...

"Tim-" Jack says, and jumps to his feet, but the man in red and black sort of...shifts. Melts. And Superboy is setting a very green, very unharmed girl onto her feet. "Oh."

She's really rather pretty, too, in a Star-Trek-alien-princess kind of way. Jack is starting to have stern, fatherly feelings about all the times Tim spent the weekend at this place.

Jack's line of thought is cut short when Superboy stalks over to him and grabs him by the shirt, using it to lift Jack off of his feet until they're eye to faintly-glowing red eye. "I'm not a fake!" he shouts defensively, grabbing at the man's wrist and pulling, twisting, trying to get down.

"Put him down," Wonder Girl says, sharply.

"I want to hear it from Tim," Superboy says. And then he just stays...right there. Holding Jack up. Staring at him. Promising violence.

The woosh and crackle passes again, stirring Jack's hair. Superboy doesn't so much as blink.

"Kon, put him down!" Tim says, and then his hands are over Jack's on Superboy's wrist, and Jack is being lowered to the ground. He's not sure how they got so high up. "You don't think he's had a rough enough day?"

"Did you run DNA tests or whatever yet?" Superboy asks, still not looking away from Jack's face. Tim tugs at his hands, but Superboy seems determined to keep his grip on Jack's shirt.

Tim makes a frustrated noise. "Did I run any on you? I think I know my dad, Kon. Please."

The glow fades out of Superboy's eyes, and he stops looking like an alien and starts looking like some kid. He lets Jack's shirt go and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly as he steps away, toward where Kid Flash seems to be making sandwiches. "Sorry, man. Just...had to be sure."

"No hard feelings," Jack makes himself say. He realizes he means it. "Thank you for looking out for my son."

"Someone had to," Superboy mutters without looking up from the bread he's buttering. It's hard for Jack to be sure, since it happens so fast, but he thinks that Kid Flash elbows Superboy in the ribs.

"I'm sorry," Tim says beside him, sounding embarrassed. "Everyone's kind of grumpy, I guess. I've been dragging them all over trying to find where he took your- where he took you." Jack turns to stare at his son, trying to process the changes he's seeing. He watches as Tim wipes a smudge of soot from his cheek with the back of a gloved hand, looking down at the floor. It's such a...a young gesture, something he'd seen Tim do a hundred times when he was caught waiting up for his parents to get in from the airport. There's only one thing Jack could ever do back then, and it's the only thing he can do now.

He puts his hand on the back of Tim's shoulder and presses, putting his son closer as he steps forward and wraps his arms around him, holding on tight. Tim gasps and squeezes him back just a little too hard to be comfortable. The only sounds in the room now are the ticking clock and Tim's suddenly ragged breathing.

"Dad," Tim says. He sounds about twelve.

Jack can't help holding on a little tighter. "Thank you for coming for me," he says.

"God," Tim chokes, "how could I not? Ra's knew. He knew the perfect f-fricking bait. Dad, I missed you so much."

Jack looks up, over Tim's shoulder. Everyone has left the room but Superboy, who's leaning against the sink eating his sandwich and not looking directly at them. Jack decides that if Tim doesn't mind that the boy is there, Jack won't let it bother him. He presses his lips to Tim's hair and rubs his back. "I'm here now. Everything's okay, son. I'm here."

Tim sobs just once before going so quiet he must be holding his breath.

Jack just holds on.

*

He feels a lot better after a shower and a shave, and a change of clothes. Tim and Kid Flash give him a brief tour of the main parts of the tower - the kitchen, the common room, a gesture toward Tim's door, and finally an empty bedroom about the same size as his cell but furnished like an upscale dorm room, with bunk beds, a desk, and a bean bag chair. Superboy follows along just behind them, not saying much. Jack doesn't know much about the boy, but he has vague memories of him being a lot more talkative, on TV. Maybe it's a sort of stage persona.

After the tour, Kid Flash says something about pizza and vanishes between one blink and the next. Jack is exhausted, and the bed is all but calling his name, but he finds himself staring out the window. "Can we go out in the garden?"

"Oh! Of course!" Tim looks like he's mad at himself for missing something obvious. Jack finds himself wincing. "We can walk around to the other side of the tower, if you want, by the ocean."

Jack smiles, trying to be reassuring. "That sounds great. I always did like California. Your mom and I talked about moving out here, once, but she decided she couldn't handle all the hippies."

Tim chokes, as if his own laughter had caught him by surprise. Jack decides to count that as a victory. They take an elevator down to the ground floor, Superboy standing in the back corner of the tiny space with his arms crossed over his chest. Jack is starting to feel like he's being chaperoned, but Tim doesn't seem to mind the other boy's presence.

The sun is just starting to set when they step outside. They walk a curved path around the base of the tower, through grass and trees and flowers and other things that smell like heaven after several days in a closed cell with no way to bathe properly. He breathes deep of the green smells and the ocean breeze and feels a little bit more like himself again.

Once they get to the western side of the island, Jack finds a rock to sit on and watches the golden evening light dance and shimmer on the water. "It's beautiful here." He rubs at his arms as the sea-chill starts to sink in, but it's not enough to make him want to go inside again.

"You could live here," Tim says. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack see's Superboy's startled glance at them. "Not here, here, I mean," Tim corrects himself. “But, maybe California. It's a lot nicer than Gotham."

There's so much in that statement that leaves Jack floored. Al Ghul had said Tim wasn't Robin anymore, but... wanting to live this far from Gotham? Their home is there, and their friends, and Janet's grave. And... "Dana loves Gotham."

Superboy reacts first, his spine straightening as he turns to Tim who...just bows his head.

"What?" Jack asks. How long was he... stupid question. Tim is a grown man. "She moved on."

Tim shakes his head without looking up.

Something cold shoots through Jack. He rubs at the goosebumps on his arms and watches Superboy step closer to his son, until their shoulders brush. "I tried to find her," Tim says, and... he sounds almost exactly like he had when he broke the living room lamp playing superheroes, back before Janet had made him stop.

"I'll tell him," Superboy says.

"No, I should-"

"Tim."

"You weren't even there."

"It's okay," Jack interrupts, cutting into the argument. "I believe you. You tried. I know you tried your best." Dana is dead.

Dana is dead.

He'll never see her again. It's like Janet all over again, but it's also not, because-

He'd loved Janet. He had. She'd given him Tim and he will always love her for that, despite all the fighting, and the way they'd drifted apart over the years. But Dana had been his...his best friend. His partner.

"I'm tired," Jack hears himself saying. "Do you mind if..."

"No, of course," Tim says quickly, sounding relieved. "I'll-"

"I'll take him up," Superboy says. "Go eat something before you fall down."

There's a staring contest between the two boys that leaves Jack feeling like an outsider, but Tim eventually nods. "Goodnight, Dad. I'll see you in the morning."

Jack nods and watches his son walk away. Tim turns to look back once before he reaches the doors. Jack is both relieved at the reprieve and angry at this kid, this stranger, for putting himself in between Jack and his son.

"Let's go in, then," Superboy says, offering Jack a hand up off of his rock. "We need to talk."

Jack hesitates, looking up at the boy and remembering the way he'd been dangled earlier in the kitchen, and the way Superboy has been following him ever since he got here. "I really am Tim's father."

"I know," Superboy says. "That's why we need to talk."

*

"I don't suppose this can wait until tomorrow?" Jack asks as he watches Superboy sprawl in the beanbag chair beside Jack's borrowed bed.

"No." Despite his relaxed posture, Superboy's voice is completely serious. "Look, I'll be upfront here. Tim's an emotional wreck right now. A lot happened after you died. Bludhaven was utterly destroyed. Like, the crater is still radioactive."

"God," Jack whispers.

"That's where Tim's stepmom was. She had a breakdown after you died and Tim sent her to some place to get better. The whole city was rubble by the time the Titans got there. Superman put Tim in charge of evacuation and containment, but I know he went looking for his stepmom himself, because he's Tim." Superboy sighs and runs his hand through his short hair. "I wasn't there. I died the same day-"

"What?"

His shock earns a smile. "You and me are in the same club. I only got back a few weeks ago. Kid Flash, too. Tim's lost a lot lately, but he's finally getting people back. Things are rough, but I think they're fixable. Tim says Batman isn't really dead-"

"Batman's dead?"

"No. There was a thing," Superboy waves a hand like this isn't important. "Space tyrant. Superman says Batman died, but Tim says he didn't, and I believe Tim. Nightwing doesn't. He's Batman now, and he fired Tim as Robin and put the grandson of the guy who dug you up into the tights, so they're not really talking much. Tim was running around looking for the real Batman until he found out what the ghoul did."

He has been wandering the world, heartbroken, lost and alone.

"What...was that, anyway?" Jack asks. "It sounded like he wanted Tim to..." He can't finish.

"Marry his daughter and take over the family business, yeah," Superboy says with a shrug, as if that's perfectly understandable. "He's a creep."

Jack nods in wholehearted agreement.

"Anyway, if you've got questions about stuff that happened, ask me first. I wasn't here to keep the bad stuff from happening, but I can keep him having to live through it again."

Oh. Jack sits down on the bed and looks at the boy, who seems tired. When he's not flying and his eyes aren't glowing, he's just a kid. A good kid. "Superman raised you well."

Superboy snorts. "Superman didn't raise me. If anything, Tim kind of did. He's been the most solid thing in my life since I was eight months old. He's been there for me through...a lot. Anything I can do to help him, I'm going to."

"Thank you," Jack says earnestly. Tim's life will never stop terrifying him, but if Tim has people like this looking out for him, maybe he'll be okay.

"Oh, don't thank me yet," Superboy says, sitting up from the beanbag. "If you hurt him, I'm going to...to do really bad things to you."

"You said you believed me about really being me," Jack says, surprised.

"No," Superboy says, frankly. "I believe Tim. But if you're really his dad, that gives you even more power to hurt him than if you weren't. He told me a lot, after you died, about how lonely he was as a kid. He made it sound like it was because of something he did wrong." Jack swallows back an automatic defensive response. "And I saw him after you made him give up Robin, and after that got his girlfriend killed."

The shock is so intense, after learning of Dana's fate, that Jack finds himself speechless again. "Stephanie?" He manages, his voice a creak. She was such a sweet girl, if a little crass. Jack hadn't noticed that she wasn't coming around anymore until he hadn't seen her for months, and then it had been too awkward to ask Tim when they'd broken up.

"Oh," Superboy says, quietly. "I guess he didn't tell you."

"She-"

"She's back, too," Superboy says quickly, cutting him off. He hesitates, then adds, "you probably shouldn't mention her, though. It got ugly."

Jack puts his head in his hands. "Anything else world shattering I should know about?"

It's quiet for a long minute. When Jack looks up, Superboy has a strange, uncertain look on his face, like he's bracing for Jack to react badly. "His last name's not 'Drake', anymore."


	3. Chapter 3

He doesn't actually fall asleep when Superboy leaves. Instead, he ends up staring at the bunk above him and thinking about the things he's learned.

Dana is dead.

That's the one he keeps coming back to. Dana is dead, and Tim is another man's son. Jack...doesn't know what to do with that.

He gets up after a while and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. He puts too much ice in it and ends up giving himself a headache.

He can see a light under Tim's door when he passes it, so he knocks. "It's open," Tim calls in his new, too-deep voice, so Jack lets himself in.

Tim's room doesn't look like a dorm room. It looks like a laboratory office that happens to have a bed in the corner, full of computers and scientific equipment. Tim is in pajamas with his back to the door, hunched over a desk spread with papers, and strangely enough, potsherds. He stiffens and turns when Jack steps inside and shuts the door. "Oh, hi. I thought you were Kon."

"That's Superboy?" Jack asks.

"Oh. Yeah. KF doesn't knock and Wonder Girl doesn't come in my room anymore, so I thought it was him. Weren't you tired?"

Anymore? Jack has a few stern, parental feelings, then decides not to think about it and shakes his head. "I couldn't sleep."

Tim smiles just a little. He hasn't shaved yet, and there are shadows under his eyes that Jack doesn't like. "Yeah, I know how that goes." He gestures toward a very expensive looking ergonomic office chair that matches the one he's sitting in.

Jack sits down and tries not to bump the microscope by his elbow.

"Since you're awake, we can start setting up your new identity," Tim says after a moment. "You're legally dead. You can't go back to Gotham. You should think about where you'll want to live."

"With you," Jack says without having to think about it. Even if he could step back into his old life, his old house and job, he'd rather be where his son is, especially with Dana gone. "Or nearby, I guess, if that cramps your style." Tim's all grown up now, after all, with girls that don't come in his room anymore and everything. College age. "You're not in school, are you?"

"Ah..." Tim looks sheepish. "I dropped out."

Jack hurts a little for that. Tim's always been so smart. There's a part of him that's always wanted to see Tim fall for the academic world Jack had to give up when Janet's little business venture took off. He shrugs, though. "You can always go back. What university did you-"

"No," Tim says, cutting him off with an embarrassed flush. "High school. I left in the middle of senior year. There were things I had to do."

Jack opens his mouth. Shuts it.

"I've got training equivalent to a few master's degrees, Dad. Everything but the paperwork. Stop making that face."

"Sorry," Jack says, reflexively, and then, "you can't tell someone that at a job interview, though."

"I own Wayne Industries," Tim says, and it's time for Jack to be speechless again. "Well, the controlling share, anyway. It's a long story and it doesn't matter right now." He pulls a laptop toward himself and starts doing something on the computer. "Now where do you want to live? I'd love to put you in Kansas, honestly, but I remember you saying how much you hated Keystone."

"I told you," Jack says, "I want to live near you. Where are you living?"

Tim blinks a few times as if the question has caught him off guard. "Nowhere," he finally says, and then shakes his head. "It wouldn't matter anyway. You can't live near me."

"I can't?" Jack frowns.

Tim's hands still on the keyboard. "You died because of me once already. Once you're recovered from your ordeal I'll set you up somewhere with a low crime rate that's also within the range of one of the faster heroes. Kansas would put you close to the Flashes and Superboy, and Superman has an investment there too. Or M'Gann promised she'd watch out for you if you want to go to Australia. You always liked Australia."

"No," Jack says. "I want to be where you are. If you're traveling, I can travel, too. I've missed far too much of your life to-"

The laptop hits the wall and bounces back, clattering across the desk and to the floor. Jack almost bites his tongue from the shock, but it's the anguished look on Tim's face that makes him shut up. "You're not going to see me again!" Tim says, sounding close to tears. "You're going to be somewhere I'll know you'll be safe, whether you like it or not. I'm giving myself forty-eight hours before I send you away."

"Tim..."

"Don't try to argue with me! You - you don't have any other options, okay? You're legally dead. You've got no money, no credentials, no connections, nothing. I'm. I'm going to put you somewhere safe and you're going to stay there if I have to refit the League's old moon base!"

Jack swallows. Swallows again. "Was Dana somewhere safe?" He asks quietly.

Tim goes white. "Dad... I'm sorry. I swear, I thought she'd be-"

"I'm not blaming you," Jack interrupts, quickly. He scoots his chair closer so that he can put his hand on Tim's arm. "I'm not. But Tim, bad things happen to the people we care about even when that's got nothing to do with somebody being a superhero. I could walk out there tomorrow and get hit by a bus-"

"No."

"I could. Hopefully, I won't. Hopefully, I'll get nice and old and crotchety. And I pray to god every day that you will, too."

Tim's face crumples, but he lets Jack pull him closer as he starts to cry.

*

Jack doesn't go back to his room. When Tim finally cries himself to sleep, Jack tucks him into his bed and goes back to the desk to rest his head in his hands.

He feels like such a failure. Tim is obviously hurting, but there's nothing Jack can do about it. He doesn't know where he'd even start. He and Tim have always been so awkward around each other, even back when he'd still thought things were good. He's tried to be a good father, but everything keeps catching him off guard. It's never like the parenting books, or like movies or tv shows. It's never been anything like what he remembers from his own childhood, or the stories his friends told around the watercooler about their own families.

Tim has always been exceptional. Intimidatingly bright, and so strangely mature even from childhood. He'd never gotten in real trouble at school, always did his homework without being told, always made good grades. Never had a big party at the house while he and Janet were away, never talked back, never cursed or dressed funny or got anything pierced. He was...low maintenance. Like a cat, or something. The boy had potty trained himself, for god's sake.

Jack has always been proud of him. Burningly, fiercely, proud of him. He loves his son. He's loved him since the day that little line had shown up on the cheap plastic pregnancy test. Janet had wanted to - Well, she hadn't planned on having a child until the business was better established, and maybe not at all. Jack had argued and wheedled until she finally came around about keeping the baby, and he knows she was glad she changed her mind.

He's loved Tim more and more with every year that's passed, every change they've weathered together. His pride in his son has grown with every challenge Tim has risen above, every report card, every A+ exam, every... everything Tim has ever done, practically. But deep down, Jack knows...

He can't take credit. Jack had given Tim a safe home and a good school and all the material things a child needs to grow, but everything else...Tim has done himself.

It was always so shocking when Tim disobeyed him. Always something big, like running away from home for a month at thirteen, or leaving his family behind in Keystone to return to Gotham. Jack knows now why he'd done those things, of course. Tim had been doing the right thing, even then, with Jack not even knowing what the stakes were. He thinks maybe he still doesn't know what the stakes are.

But he wants to learn. He wants to get to know his son, for real this time. He wants to be the one Tim turns to when he has a bad day out there. He wants to know who Tim is running off to fight, and what he's saving the mere mortals from this time. He wants to help.

Which is stupid. Tim is surrounded by a network of people with superpowers and with minds like Tim's own, with training and discipline that might as well be superpowers all by themselves. And Jack is one old man whose greatest legacy is a handful of academic papers and a company he ran into the ground.

No. That's wrong. His greatest legacy is snoring softly a few feet away with his arm thrown over his face. He's kicked the covers away from his feet, so Jack gets up and tucks him in again. At least he can do that much.

He sits back down with a sigh and picks up the laptop from the floor. He's shocked to find it still running. He sits it down on the desk and opens it up, thinking to browse news sites or something, to refamiliarize himself with the world, but he doesn't recognize the operating system at all and can't even figure out how to get to the internet. He gives up after a few minutes and pushes the thing aside.

The potsherds catch his interest, and he plays with them for a bit, wondering why Tim has them. The pieces look like they were once Jōmon cordwork pots, probably two or three of them from variations in the glaze. When he turns over one of the pieces for a better look, his hand goes still.

There's a familiar stylized bat carved into it. Not after firing, like an ostrakon, but under the glaze, so that the fine scratches are smooth to the touch.

Hm...

He puts the sherds back where he got them from and starts looking around the mess on the desk for clues. Most of Tim's notes, if that's what they are, seem to be in some kind of code. He opens a waterproof plastic envelope and finds a Mayan codex inside, hand-painted on hunn bark-cloth paper, añil-blue and red, vegetable ink worn and faded where the pages have been handled for unfolding.

Jack frowns at the faded glyphs and illustrations, thinking. He opens Tim's laptop up again.

Yes, he was right. One of the open documents is a...rather poor attempt at translation. Jack looks back and forth between the page and the screen, but he can't figure out what Tim wants with this. Maybe he's tracking international antiquities thieves.

It's so strange, though, because Jack hasn't seen this codex before. There are only so many out there, and most of those in circulation are forgeries. This one, though... Jack hums to himself and digs in Tim's desk for a pencil. There's a box of latex gloves in the bottom drawer, so he takes a pair, and clears the center of the desk before carefully opening up the accordion-folded book. 

It's just a fragment - a few pages, and mostly damaged. Most of it is completely illegible.

Jack gets to work.

*

"TimyourDad's- Oh, hi," Kid Flash says, waking Jack with a start. There's a piece of paper stuck to his face, so he peels it and puts it back with his notes, rubbing at his cheek in case the ink smudged. Tim is already on his feet and looking ready for a fight, knees bent slightly and his arms half-raised. "Sorry. I went to see if he wanted pancakes but he was gone."

Tim relaxes and slumps back down onto the bed. "No, that's - you did the right thing."

"So," Kid Flash says, "pancakes?"

"Did you make them?" Tim asks. There's an edge of humor in his voice that lightens Jack's heart a little.

"No, Cassie did. But I picked the berries. M'Gann reminded me they were in season in parts of the Southern Hemisphere right now."

"Oh, in that case, sure," Tim says, and flops onto his back, stretching. He turns to look at Jack. "Did you stay here all night?"

"Uh, yeah. Got carried away, I guess." Jack yawns and scrubs his face with his hands.

"With what? Ohhh, cool. Tim, you never told me you can read Mayan."

"I can't," Tim says, and sits up abruptly, looking serious. "Dad, that stuff is important, you can't-"

"I was careful," Jack assures him. He'd put the codex back inside its plastic sleeve before he'd fallen asleep over his notes. "What is all this, anyway? A bat symbol on ten-thousand year old pottery, a Mayan codex about Camazotz and medicine..."

"What?" Tim says, eyes wide and jumps up to stand next to him, leaning over Jack's shoulder.

Jack thumbs through the pages in front of him. "It's some kind of myth about the bat god teaching the people about healing herbs. Tree bark for fevers, that kind of thing." 

Tim's face lights up in sheer delight and he starts laughing. Kid Flash looks as startled as Jack feels. "Oh god. Oh -"

"What's going on?" Superboy says from the door, sounding wary. Maybe he thinks Tim's snapped.

When he's done wiping his eyes, Tim turns to grin at him. "Apparently Bruce invented quinine."

Superboy seems to knows what this means, because he barks out a laugh. "Well, fuck, he would, wouldn't he. You pin him down?"

Tim turns back to Jack quickly, looking eager. "Could you get a date from that? A location?"

"Ah...very generally. Tim, what's going on?"

"Batman's lost in time," Kid Flash says matter-of-factly. "Tim's trying to find him. If he can get the time and place right, I can use the Cosmic Treadmill to go get him and bring him back."

Everything falls into place in an instant, and Jack knows what he has to do. "What else do you have?" he asks. "Do you have more clues?" 

"Yeah," Tim says. He straightens up and turns to look at Jack, and it's clear he's making the connections too. There's something bright and hopeful in his eyes, under the exhaustion and the frown-lines on his brow.

"I could help you," Jack says. "I mean, I know Mesoamerica better than anything else, but I know people all over. Specialists in just about everything. I can send you to the right people. Hell, I know a guy in Dresden who would kill for the opportunity to properly date that codex for you."

"Dad..." Tim says, with a sound in his voice that Jack hasn't heard since Tim was just a little thing. Since Jack could pick him up and make him fly. 

"I'm going to help you," Jack swears. "We're going to do this. You and me."

The sudden grin that breaks over Tim's face is enough to make Jack feel like maybe he could fly, too.

*

The guard at the door doesn't so much as glance twice at Jack Draper's identification as he lets him through the staff door at the Royal Museum. "Doctor Verhoeven's expecting you," he says, and gives Jack directions to the man's basement office.

He hasn't been here in a long time. Hopefully no one will recognize him.

Verhoeven's office is small and cramped, in the way of curator's offices everywhere. There are books and papers and a computer so old that Tim would probably burst out laughing if he could see it. Jack adjusts his glasses and turns his head that way for a moment, just to be sure he gets the chance. "Good evening, Doctor," he says with a little bow when the man looks up from his work. "We spoke on the phone about-"

"Ah! Yes, yes, the artifact," Verhoeven hops out of his chair, excited to finally have someone interested in his pet project. His paper had been rejected during peer review, and if Jack's old email account weren't still getting digests from the review board, he's not sure they ever would have heard of it. The man has begun to develop an entirely undeserved reputation as a crackpot. Jack listens to him babble as he follows him down the hall.

"You were right, Dad," Tim says in his ear, sounding amused. "This was a better option than than breaking and entering."

"Or kidnapping," Jack mutters under his breath, since it's obvious Verhoeven is going to be much easier to get information out of than the objects themselves.

"Or that," Tim agrees. In his mind's eye, Jack can see him grinning as he crouches on the roof, watching the feed. It's so clear in his voice that Jack can't help smiling, himself. Verhoeven takes the smile for encouragement, and he's off again, talking about advancements in the dating process that helped him pin down the origin of the ornaments, and nevermind that no one's ever found para-aramid synthetics in an Adena burial mound before.

"This is all very exciting," Jack says, loud enough this time that Verhoeven can hear him. The man grins at him almost manically, bobbing his head in agreement. "I'm so glad to be a part of this research."

Tim's whisper in his ear is so soft that he almost doesn't hear it over Verhoeven's talk of Pre-Columbian textile production. "I'm glad you are, too, Dad."

Jack Drake has never been a hero, but sometimes, for a little while, every father gets to feel like one.


End file.
